Seamless
by Beckon
Summary: He was a genius in his own, twisted right; a madman caught up in the revolting yet intimate bloodshed of others. In a sick, unbearable way… he was perfect. Oneshot.


**A/N: Another story that happened during my four days without internet and the need to entertain myself with something. I figured I haven't typed much with this couple recently so I might as well keep the spark alive. **

There seemed to be a certain way he fit in against her; a certain way to how he leaned back against her. The weight of his shoulders as they lightly pressed into her ribcage, the faint way he rested his head partly on her chest. It was in the small way his body seemed to move with hers, as every given breath seemed to encourage the same movement from his lungs; persuading the two of them to match patterns and seemingly breathe as one.

He had a specific technique with his fingertips as he slowly dragged them back and forth across her knuckles, one of his hands holding securely onto hers. She had merely placed her hand against his sloping shoulder to keep her arm from cramping but he seemed to enjoy the small gesture; fingers moved over her own protectively before they resumed their earlier motives.

Where her hands were hardened and worn down from excessive work and physical labor, his were the opposite; his skin seemed unusually soft to the touch and didn't bear an ounce of minor callous. She always remarked that it was due to her previous position as Lieutenant, bodyguard, experimenter and victim that caused for her hands to seem less than pleasing to the eye; there was a reason she liked to keep them wrapped underneath protective layers and out of sight. He concluded that he worked just as much, although he didn't handle the physical labor aspect, but was able to mind what he was doing down to the minor details. In that way, he was able to avoid tearing or any kind of build up on his skin. There was a bit of admittance that he too had let his focus slip once or twice and burned the skin down to blisters and blood but… had successfully managed some reconstructive work on them.

And there were those times in the middle of the night where she would often enact on her love to stroll her mindless fingers across his bare flesh; it was all just to feel the way every inch of it seemed to respond to the simplest of strokes. She loved being able to observe how his skin was generally seamless and bore no ill marks of discolor or foreign tissues. And yet, across her own body, there were more than plenty to count and look at. There were darkened marks that stretched from one curve and onto the next without so much as a cut of hesitation; each one held a detailed story that was often times kept quiet and to herself.

It was always those midnight whispers that brought out that half-asleep, partly mumbled chuckle from his lips as he reminded her that not all markings had to be visible. After all, he knew plenty about the human body and the durability of flesh to know just how deep one could cut without showing a mark as a result.

If anything, that was one thing to trust from him.

He was a genius in his own, twisted right; a madman caught up in the revolting yet intimate bloodshed of others. In a sick, unbearable way… he was perfect.

A statement like that would call for one's mental clearance to be questioned and tested, but she always assumed she didn't have much to go off of. The only other man she had known in her life was her Captain, and she had only been created to serve and protect him. But… while his strength wasn't exactly something to be boasting about, or really even noticeable, he needed her in a different aspect. Maybe holding a slightly blurred line between needed and wanted, he didn't care all too much for physical strength or perfection. He seemed more intrigued by an aspect she still had yet to get a grasp on.

That was why he felt so flawless.

Fingertips moved to brush through the pink strands that fell against his face as she felt every soft lock run through her individual fingers. The feel of his body weight shifting slightly against her before he fell back into her curves suggested that his day outside of their small, confined areas together had not been the least bit functional. Sometimes when the world outside of their own didn't run as smoothly or function as correctly… he would come back to her without so much as a moment's break of hesitation. She guessed he found some kind of comfort in this mixed up embrace of their world, in this unexplainable chance of happened luck- or maybe misfortune on their part.

Her other hand had moved to rest lazily against his chest, feeling the soft material of his uniform gather between her fingers. She kept one leg partly hooked around his waist, almost showcasing the strange difference between his fully clothed uniform and her more appealing one that left a greater amount of flesh to be bare; the tip of her foot moved in small circles against the inside of his leg, tracing the faint wrinkles in the white material.

"Why do you enjoy being here so much?"

His question, when posed for the first time, had been odd to hear and even odder to try and answer… but with the greater amount of passing time that had brought them to this world it was easy to answer now. It was still difficult to comprehend which one of them was being reassured by the answer... although, at this point, it didn't seem to matter all too much anymore.

She just continued to run her fingers through his hair and smile ever so lightly to herself; taking in the soft contact and motion of flesh that radiated as slow gestures between them.

"Because I'd rather live in your world than be without you in mine."


End file.
